


Disarm

by andrasstaie



Series: Disarm [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkwardness, F/M, Fluff, Mild Language, Missing Scene, Scene Rewrite, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-03-31 07:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrasstaie/pseuds/andrasstaie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathra Lavellan gave much to help the Inquisition close the Breach and in the process she nearly lost herself. With one act of kindness, she begins to learn how to reclaim her identity from behind the mask of being the Inquisitor. And, slowly, she starts to question whether her pragmatism allowed for her change of heart regarding Raleigh Samson or if it's something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impulsive Judgments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to sleep, Nathra Lavellan begins to reconsider her hastily made judgment on Samson.

Judgment had long passed since the morning, yet Nathra felt no peace in her decision. In fact, she lay awake able to think of little else. His words curled around her mind like a viper. Samson was not wrong. This simple statement of fact repeated over and over in her head, worming it’s way to her core.  
  
_“Do as you will, Inquisitor. Your kind always does.”_  
  
Her kind. Nathra scowled as she stared up at the ceiling. The implications of the statement burned in her mind. She grunted and tossed her blanket off in frustration. Sliding out of the bed with little grace, she pulled a tunic over her head and slipped a simple pair of dark breeches on. Barefooted and copper locks free of their braid she slipped away from her chambers silently.  
  
The trip across Skyhold and down to the dungeon was a silent one. Dancing in and out of the shadows to avoid the nightwatch, Nathra descended the long stairway to her destination. One guard stood watch, leaned up against a stone pillar near the center of the main hall. Picking up a loose pebble, she tossed it across the room to draw attention away. Sliding up behind the guard, she pressed a palm to his temple and cast a sleep spell. Careful to catch the guard’s arm, she eased him down onto the stone. Slipping the keys off his belt, she went deeper into the dungeon. Samson was not difficult to find. He was the only prisoner residing in Skyhold’s dungeons. Such as they were.  
  
“Come to add insult to injury eh, Inquisitor?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Nathra inched forward, a frown tugging at her lips. He snorted, shaking his head. She stopped at his cell, crouching down and wrapping her long delicate fingers on the bars. He sat in a corner, eyeing her from his hunched position. When Nathra said nothing, he squinted at her.  
  
“Come to watch the caged beast, then?”  
  
“I came to see the man. The one that was not in my judgment hall.” She tilted her head, moonlight glinting off her eyes for the barest of moments.  
“And what is it you expect to find now, Inquisitor?” he asked. “I am no less the man I was earlier.”  
  
Nathra’s gaze narrowed. “That is not what I’ve heard.” Stories fluttered through her mind’s eye, tales woven by Varric of his time in Kirkwall. Stories that involved Samson. The fallen templar. A man reduced to begging for his next meal, his next lyrium. Yet he’d aided mages fleeing the Circle. Had done the right thing in the face of blood mages.

Samson chortled. “Heard wild tales of me, have you?”  
  
“Even I can see you are a good man, Samson. Why did you agree to it? Why did you do it?”  
  
He met her questions with silence. Not even a derisive snort, or a hollow chuckle. Nathra moved to stand when Samson found his voice.  
  
“I was a Kirkwall guttersnipe crawling after lyrium, and Corypheus gave me back my sword.”  
  
She looked back at him, trying to read his expression. But he merely seemed resigned. He sat up a bit, watching her.  
  
“I’d have been a fool to say no,” he continued. A long, defeated sigh left his lips. “I was a greater fool for saying yes.”  
  
Nathra’s ears drooped just a bit at the implication in his weary tone. She looked down at her hand with the keys, tensing only a moment as she made her decision. Standing then, she unlocked the door to his cage and pressed it open as it creaked in protest. Samson’s gaze narrowed, yet he did not recoil as Nathra took her first step inside the cell.  
  
“I…” she trailed off. She clenched and unclenched her jaw as she stopped in front of him. “You don’t deserve this.”  
  
He snorted, a bitter laugh bubbling up. “What’s it matter, Inquisitor?”

She bowed her head downward, nostrils flaring as she stared at the cold stone. “It matters because you were right.”  
  
Samson made a strangled choking sound. Her ears twitched in surprise and she looked up. But by the time she caught sight of him, he was shaking his head. He made no move to respond, instead he remained ever careful in avoiding her scrutinizing gaze. Nathra ventured closer, dropping to her knees to straddle over his one outstretched leg. Still Samson refused to look at her, eyes downcast and a sneer on his lips.  
  
“Not about following Corypheus, of course,” she said. Her gentle, awkward laugh echoed off the stone walls of his cell. “You were mad to do that.” She paused, inhaling a steadying breath. “But… my judgment was hasty.” Nathra folded her hands in her lap, sitting back on her heels as she stared at him.  
  
“And?” he prompted.  
  
His nostrils flared as he finally cut his gaze up to her. Nathra’s long ears twitched again.   _I've been among these shemlen too long._  The thought pressed against her mind and she pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh.  
  
“I will not hand you over to Kirkwall.” She released her nose and blinked at him. “You will serve m- the Inquisition. For as long as you live, your place will be at Skyhold.”  
  
He did not miss her stumble, smirking up at her. “My final reckoning, is it? Serve the Inquisitor faithfully until the lyrium burns a hole through my skull?”  
  
Her fingers curled slightly as he spoke, a ghost of a nod given in answer for him. He snorted in laughter. “Pretty, pragmatic,” he leered, “ _and_ an elf. How do the masses stand it?”  
  
Nathra did not move for a long time, instead watching Samson through the dim light. When the silence became awkward, she rose abruptly. Sparing him one last glance, she muttered about making arrangements in the morning for his accommodations, and then locked his cell door behind her on the way out. Nathra took less care on the return trip to her room, her heart lighter and shoulders freer.  
  
This decision would please few, but at least she finally knew she’d done the right thing. Nathra was done placating those around her, vowing to lose no more of herself to this mad quest to save the world.


	2. Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samson discovers Nathra's penchant for gardening.

Birds chirped and sang as the morning light bathed Skyhold’s garden in a warm glow. Nathra was, for the most part, alone as she moved about. Flitting like a hummingbird from plant to plant as she checked her herbs and flowers over. She stooped over the elfroot, pulling a few weeds away. She hummed to herself as she worked, occasional words breaking in as she pulled weeds and trimmed plants.    **  
**

“So this is what the almighty Inquisitor does when she’s not conquering nations.”

Nathra squealed like a scared puppy, head snapping around quickly to see who’d disturbed her. Samson stood nearby, a smirk brightening his features. A relieved sigh escaped her lips, bewilderment melting away into a pleasant smile.  

With a quick, quiet grace Nathra then moved to another area of the garden. Her attention drifted away from Samson as she looked over the white jasmine flowers, gently pulling a few off their vines.

“You expect I’d trust anyone else to do it?” she asked casually. Tossing a glance over her shoulder, she smiled again when he merely shrugged. “Mother Giselle,” she continued, pulling a few more blooms off. “Wanted to turn the whole garden into a Chantry,” she scoffed. She shook her head, lip curling at the mere thought. It disgusted her, just like everything else about the Chantry she’d learned.

Her ears twitched when she heard him grunt. Possibly in approval. Given what she knew of the man, she was inclined to believe such was the case. The idea helped ease the look of disgust off her face as she tucked the flowers into a pouch on her belt. Nathra turned then and glided across the garden to stand in front of her company.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked. A sweet smile curled at her lips, long ears perking up ever so slightly as she peered at him. She clasped her hands behind her back, swaying gently back and forth between the balls and heels of her feet.

“Your arcanist,” he drawled out. “She finished early.”

Nathra’s features brightened, a grin now splayed out across her face. She bounded away from him suddenly, stopping in front of the white daisies. When he didn’t follow, she clucked her tongue with a sigh and walked back over to him. Samson’s features twisted into one of confusion as she easily entwined her fingers with his.

He didn’t move when she gave a gentle tug. And when she looked up at him, he was staring at their hands with a quizzical look on his features. Nathra stepped closer again, now staring between them as well.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked. Her gaze went wide and apologetic as she looked between their hands and his face. With all the touching she often saw among shemlen, she’d spared not a second thought to the gesture.

“No,” he answered slowly.

Samson lifted their hands, fanning his fingers out then curling them again. His gaze was a studious one as he repeated the action a few times. Nathra dared not move as she watched him go through his motions. Instead she opted to enjoy the brush of his calloused fingers against her own, marveling at how one with such large hands could be so gentle.

“Just a surprise,” he shrugged.

His eyes narrowed as he wrapped his fingers about hers one final time, leaving them in place to finally meet her gaze. Nathra’s lips twitched upward in a slight smile, a shy look at the unexpected reaction she’d earned herself.

“I guess not all you shems are as accustomed to this touching thing as I was lead to believe.” She laughed, albeit awkwardly. Her freckled cheeks tinted just the slightest shade of pink as she gave his hand a tug again. And this time, he followed her to the small arrangement of daisies.

Samson was chuckling as Nathra tugged him along. A sound, she found, to be surprisingly full of mirth. With a smirk, she hummed her approval. She crouched down, shocked when the gentle grasp on her hand wasn’t immediately released. His chuckle faded into a raspy cough as he released her hand. Yet in spite of this he still watched with great interest in her task. As she regained control of her other hand, she pulled her selected flower free.

“These are my favorite,” she chirped cheerfully.

Once she’d pulled a few more buds free, she flashed a toothy grin at the man when she spun about with a small bouquet of the daisies. They were white, for the most part. On a few, pale pink tipped the edges of the petals.

One of his dark brows quirked upward as she pressed the small collection into his hands. “This is how you’d have me “serve the Inquisition”?” Despite the question, the smirk that twitched at the corners of his lips spoke volumes more.

Nathra shushed him, but the edge of it vanished as it gave way to a laugh. Moving to turn away, she stopped as Samson caught one arm. Slowly, Nathra looked from the hand on her arm and back to him. He released her arm in favor of pulling free one of the daisies in the bouquet.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer her, instead he pushed her hair behind one ear and set one of the daisies in place. Pink colored her cheeks as she watched him. A tantalizing leer on his lips as he handed the bouquet back.

“Your Commander is expecting me.” 

Samson departed without another word, not even so much as a glance in her direction as the soldiers escorted him to the main hall. 

Nathra blinked, absently gliding her fingers over the flower behind her ear. The sounds of approaching Chantry sisters broke her reverie all too soon. She quickly pushed the remaining flowers into an empty pouch. Scurrying out of the garden and toward the kitchens, she tried all the while to get her blushing under control.


	3. Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faced with the reality of her decision to spare Samson, Nathra works through her anxiety to come to terms with how the whole situation makes her feel. And how he makes her feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For timeline purposes: first section is set immediately following Impulsive Judgments and the rest set immediately following Flowers.

“Inquisitor! This is-”

“More useful than sending him to his death in Kirkwall.”

“But you’d see him walk free in Skyhold? He is dangerous! Surely-”

“If Dagna would be allowed to perform her tests, then-”

Not a one of her advisors had acted like this since the start of the Inquisition. Not once. And now, now they were all talking over each other like small children. Nathra hissed, her annoyance clear in the flush of her tanned skin. She couldn’t take it anymore.

“Enough!” she shrieked. The rumbling of noise ceased and she pinned each one of them with a steely glare. “All objections have been noted.” She breathed out sharply, gaze narrowing upon each in turn. “And _duly ignored_. My decision is final.”

Holding up a hand to prevent any of them from speaking again, Nathra continued. “Any guard will keep a  _respectable_ distance at all times. And if I hear of any of Dagna’s experiments getting out of hand, I  _will_ be having words regarding boundaries.” Nathra glanced now to Josephine. “Please see that he’s given proper accommodations, Josephine.”

Nathra sucked in a breath and tilted her chin upward, daring her advisors to challenge her decision. Wisely - as far as Nathra was concerned - she went unchallenged. And after a curt exit, she was skirting down the hall away from the war room and attempting to catch her breath. Ducking aside before reaching the main hall, she made a beeline down the stairs to the library, only stopping once she’d turned the corner.

Bending forward, she laid her hands on her thighs and tried to still her breathing. The whole being overly confident in decisions thing might just be the death of her. Or the anxiety that came along with it would. Nathra couldn’t say she’d ever enjoyed having to make decisions, but wholly disagreeing with all her advisors? She tried to calm the shaking of her body at the mere thought.

“Creators,” she whispered on a shaky breath.

When her breathing finally stilled, Nathra righted herself and headed into the library. On her way to the desk, she collected the book and papers she’d hidden away in the dust and seated herself on the old chair. Brushing away new bits of dust and cobwebs, she set the tome down and set about practicing her writing skills.

 

Some days later, Nathra found herself retreating to the cellar library once more. This time with a lingering blush on her cheeks and a delicate flower tucked behind one ear. Focusing became a struggle, her mind drifting off if she didn’t keep it in check. Thoughts meandering off toward Samson. What he was doing, if everyone was treating him properly. She chewed on her bottom lip, staring blankly at the pages in front of her. The more her mind drifted, the harder it became to drag it back and pay attention to the strings of letters before her.

Finally, with an annoyed huff, she slammed the book closed and slumped over the large desk. Face buried in her forearms, she grumbled and sighed to herself. She began to mutter to herself, incoherent strings of words somewhere between questioning her sanity and praying to the gods for… something. Help? Guidance? Deliverance? Nathra wasn’t even sure as her brain wandered off again, letting words just rattle off her tongue with no regard for their meaning.

She missed a quiet shuffling in the doorway down the hall behind her. Missed the growing footsteps as they drew ever closer to her. Oblivious to the sensation of a presence behind her. Too wrapped up in the dangerous path her brain had set her on and then left.

And so when a hand gently touched her shoulder, Nathra let out the most ungodly shriek. It echoed and reverberated off every nook and cranny in the room, bouncing down and hall and out into the open area beyond the doorway. It didn’t take her long to form that shriek into three coherent words as she snapped her head up and whipped around.

“What the  _fuck_?”

The intruder backpedaled, throwing hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. “Woah there, Rosie, it’s just me.”

Her eyes narrowed, finally processing Varric’s presence as something other than a threat. She relaxed and slouched over.

“Don’t  _do that_ ,” she hissed.

“I’ll do my best,” he promised with a grin. Varric then stepped forward again, patting her leg gently. “I just came to check on you. Curly said you missed the last meeting in the war room.” He paused, stepping back again. “No one’s seen you for hours, I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Hours…?” Her voice trailed off as her gaze went distant. “Has it really been that long?” She looked at the dwarf now, tilting her head ever so slightly. “I thought…”

“Hours,” he confirmed with a nod of his head. “It wasn’t easy to find you, I’ll have you know.” He flashed her a grin in spite of the complaint, clearly not all that bothered. “But everyone was getting worried,” he shrugged. “I volunteered to come find you. Pretty sure Lucky wanted to, but I beat him to it.” Varric winked at her.

Nathra squirmed in her spot, shifting her eyes away. “Why, uh,” she swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “Why would that matter?” She could feel heat rising through her cheeks, the awkward warmth spreading rapidly. She began to curse in her head as Varric gave her a cheeky grin.

“Oh, no reason.” Varric turned away, starting to head out. He paused and looked over his shoulder at her, a devious grin on his face. “I’ll just let him know you’re here.”

Without another word, Varric vanished. Nathra began to squirm again in her seat, debating with herself if this excited, giddy feeling was a good or bad thing. And if it would be wrong to show it. 

 _Creators! But he is a shemlen!_ Slumping forward further, Nathra buried her face in her hands and began to count back from one hundred in a vain attempt to settle her mind. And to mentally prepare herself for Samson’s company.


End file.
